Rizal's Lower Deck

To those who do read, let us ponder at the thoughts of our national hero, visions transcending spatial and temporal boundaries:

"Thank you, but we do not drink beer," refused the two.

"Oh, that's not good," said Simoun who did not know what to do. "Beer is something good, and I heard from Fr. Camorra this morning that this land's dullness owes to the fact that people are drinking too much water."

Isagani, who was just as tall as the jeweler, straightened himself up before him.

"Then tell Fr. Camorra," Basilio immediately intervened, secretly nudging Isagani to calm down "-tell him that if only he drinks water instead of wine or beer, then we can win anytime without much fuss."

"Tell him too," added Isagani, ignoring his friend's warning, "that water may be tasteless and drinkable, yet it sweeps away the taste of wine and beer and quenches fire; that when heated it becomes steam, and when angered it turns into an ocean that once destroyed mankind and the whole world."

Simoun raised his head, and though his eyes could not be seen behind his blue pair of spectacles it was obvious that he was somehow astonished.

"A good answer," he uttered, "albeit he may ask when the water becomes steam and when it turns into an ocean. I'm afraid Fr. Camorra is playful and a skeptic."

"When it is heated over the fire, once small and separate rivers fall, triggered by tragedy down to the pit men have been digging," Isagani answered.

"No, Mr. Simoun," Basilio added, bringing the conversation's mood down to a jest. "It will be better if you keep in mind these verses by my friend Isagani:

Water we are and you are the fire,
Come if that's what you want to believe!
Beware that you shall never incite
Water to raise arms and bear fight,
And if so, we go on endowed
With Wisdom to think and never be cowed,
And without hatred nor horrid disgust
Small droplets we merge, united we must
Altogether boil into steam
To fuel our great Progressive machine,
Lighting the torch of civilization,
Breathing life over every nation."

"A dream! Nothing but a dream!" was Simoun's dry reply. "Go find your machine -- I will drink my beer."

Without a word Simoun left the two.

In the wake of many betrayals and looming dangers the archipelago are 7, 107 droplets of water waiting to merge and, over the heat of injustice and impending tyranny, boil into a steam that will propel the machine of national solidarity paving into greatness and a return of respect for human rights as well as good governance. Let it boil! Let it boil! But save the unsuspecting people idly trapped inside!

(The selection above is my rough translation of a portion of the 2nd chapter of Rizal's El Filibusterimo, First Revised Edition of the de Guzman Tagalog translation, pp. 17-18)